Swimming in a Paper Cup
by dimefor12
Summary: Prompt: What kind of conversation would the boys have about Dean's decision to send John off on his own at the end of 1.16? Gen.


**a/n: **this was written for a **spn epific **prompt based on the episode _Shadow (_first season). Slight spoilers for that epi, as well as the Pilot and _Faith. _Please, if you liked or didn't, review. I WILL beg, and no, it won't be pretty ;)

The blood that etched it's way across his father's face plays in flashes behind his eyes. He has never seen their dad look so broken, wide eyes and slack mouth, but he's heard the words before. All the words that denied what he wanted, ordered him into action, demanded him to leave. Those were familiar; he's had all his life to hear them, to acquaint himself with everything about John that he never wanted to be.

_Dad's right, Sam  
We make him vulnerable  
He's stronger without us_

And he always knew Dean followed Dad; always knew--when push came to shove--that Dean could and would effortlessly parrot the man's lines. Could believe it. But tonight's the first time he has seen his dad look askance at his brother--look _uneasy. _He remembers his dad's face, staring at Dean, eyes locked, and Sam wonders what John thought when he saw the claw marks raked across Dean's skin, messy and red gouges marring his left cheek. Sam wonders what his dad really meant, voice low and unsteady, when he said, _but, you boys are all beat up, _and feels something hot and tight (_laughter, _he thinks, _only laughter_) in his stomach.

Dad only looked at Dean, only at his brother, when his face was filled with concern, with grief. That's fine, he thinks, though it might have taken the sting out of the only words directed at him, _you've gotta let me go_, if Dad had given him the same, before driving off--before the only thing Sam was left with were five little words on a loop in his head and the red glare of tail-lights as he watched his father drive away.

But he wasn't given that choice. And now he listens to Dean's breath, loud and hitching, and the low rumble of the Impala. Tries not to think. Fails, and he knows that's only par for the course. "Why?" It's the only thing he can ask, now, and he knows the question startles Dean, sees muscles jump and fade in his brother's jaw. It's only then he realizes how tense Dean is. _Expecting a fight,_ and it makes him show teeth, stretches his mouth, and even he can't say it's a grin, so he fights to control it.

Dean coughs, glances his way, though their eyes don't meet, before focusing back on the road. "I told you. We put Dad at risk," Sam doesn't reply, doesn't _move_, and he thinks Dean understands that it isn't enough, because he continues, "You wouldn't be any good in a fight like that right now, anyway."

Sam feels the possibility of anger _(screamingyellingsilence) _like electric currents flickering in the space between them; it leaves him shaky and tasting ozone, but he lets it pass, says, "I think that's my decision to make, Dean. You can't."

"No. I _can," _and now Dean slides his eyes to Sam's, and in the dim light of street lamps his brother looks cold, blank. "I can, when you're _this," _Dean lifts a hand from the wheel, thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart, "close to getting yourself offed. Dad doesn't need--"

"It's not _his _choice, either!" So much for calm, but Sam can't stop, can't breathe, and pain lances through his face as his own cuts ooze blood, trickle to mix with the dried marks and he thinks, distantly, _we need to clean up_. "Jesus, Dean. We lost Mom, and I lost _Jess_. I deserve to be in on this; I _deserve_ a chance at this thing, and the first time Dad is even thinking about letting us stick with him, you fucking push him away! I'm tired of hearing that it's too dangerous, 'cause you know what? _Everything_ we do is. Isn't that what Dad always told us? Now you what to change it?" He huffs a laugh, keeps his gaze on the wet street, strips of shimmering pavement in front of the Impala's headlights. "You can't have it both ways."

"I don't want you getting killed because of some damn rooky mistake, man. _That's _my point." Dean's voice is quiet, hard, and settles heavier around them than Sam's explosion. "I know you want revenge; I get that. I really do, but." Dean stops, and Sam sees his brother's hands are back to strangling the steering wheel, bones right against the surface of his skin.

He thinks this is going nowhere fast, but the words are out, before he can stop them. "You can't tell me you don't want revenge, too. This isn't just me."

"No, I--" Dean rolls his shoulders, then starts again. "I want to know that whatever killed Mom, got your girl, is dead. I don't have to be the one to kill it, or send it back or whatever. Hell, I don't even have to be there. I just wanna know." The smile Dean shoots him is strange, macabre with the red on his face painted to black in the poor light, and almost sad. "I wish that was enough for you, too." A cough, and then Dean mutters, "Would make my life a whole helluva lot easier."

Sam thinks about Jess, laughing and alive. Thinks of her stomach slit and bleeding, while she burned away above him. Remembers Dean's offers to drive, his dad's gravelly voice saying, _I'm sorry about your girlfriend, Sam, _far away and through a cell phone before Dean snatched it away and just _obeyed. _He says, "No," and sees Dean's small nod. _No, _and he doesn't know if it's to the memories crowding him, thick and tangible, or to Dean, but it's all he has and he knows he can't let it go.

**a/n2: **title taken from the Fuel song, lyrics are:

_Try to hold the world there sinking,  
swimming in a paper cup  
Try to own the one beneath the skin  
_


End file.
